The end of times

          The windows have all been replaced. No more will I hear them rattling through the winter. The working class joes who came to do this were scary. One was very fat. One had a Mohawk haircut and big muscles. Now I know why the evil bourgeois have always been scared of them. I was so scared I had to leave them alone to get on with it, and had to walk the streets till they went away. I should have backhanded them fifty quid, but I wasn't here when they left, so I didn't. Evil bourgeois don't backhand anyone. They have servants. Just seeing these joes arrive made me realise how much I hated the evil bourgeois, and my degeneration into that disgusting class of folk.

        So what has to be done about this? There will always be suffering since only Buddhas do not suffer, and I do not believe that, so we all have to suffer. Until we don't. In an inconceivable place.

       This is the end of something. The beginning of something else. My partner has been dead for about six months. I don't cry every day. The windows have been fixed. The estate will be sorted soon, I hope.  This is a last remaining tendril. The windows have been fixed. I'll see the Domestic Bliss's best friend on Monday and she had just gotten over a terrible, but curable, black spot. After that, I'm free. At last, I'm free! At last, I'm free!

       I should be able to sit here and not smoke and not drink. Forget the time. Forget what day it is. Follow the seasons. Dig when there are diggings to be done. Solitude. Solitude.

      Impermanence. Preciousness of human existence. Karma. Get out of this existence, this Samsara.

      So when am I going to start meditating? It would be great if I could stay here and do that over the winter, and then I could be here, and be doing it amongst my deep, dear friends, the wonderful people. But when I see them, all I want to do is roll around in the gutters. I really enjoy doing that. So it might be best for everyone concerned if I just got lost up the Cairngorms, or down the Samye Ling, or over on the Holy Isle with Mrs Palmo, or just anywhere where no one knew you at all.